It wasn’t that long ago that I thought clichés sounded romantic, too.
I remember them like Yesterday.
Shadows Boomerang in the heavily-shaded absorbed silence of unglamorous Self-Reflection while simultaneously bouncing in shades of The High Echo of a reverberated-while simultaneously-shining dulcet patina of an authentic “BON VOYAGE! I can’t WAIT to see you again!”
What do you call Long-term Loyalty
In the Absence of
Friendship and Availability?
I call it:
You may Like me with gestures of kindness,
But your mental distance drains them of Weight,
Turning your Followship into
An empty, hollowed ship
Which doesn’t “float my boat”
Or buoyantly “float in seas”
Only sighted with tools
Designed to scope distantly.
These tools aren’t available to Me,
And neither are You, apparently.
I don’t know why I’m always the
Last One to See such seemingly
Simple and truthful Things.
At least I won’t be haunted by
THE GHOST OF WHAT WAS,
Because The Ghost Who’s Most
Likely to Pursue and Eat
The Scraped and Burnt
Piece of Toast who looks a lot like Me
Is clearly Impressed Easily
By lousy cooking skills and
Solely Verbally-Skillful Attributes;
The latter attributes are the
Only Ones which describe my virtues
POETRY BY AGE ISN’T POETRY BY NUMBERS
I decided what separates
The poems of the Young
From the poems of the Old
Isn’t the song sung nor story told;
Rather it’s down to The Style
Which captures a Frown or a Smile.
Do You prefer to mentally copulate
With the first prick of fresh heartache,
Or do you prefer the dejection,
Pain and unspared despair
Of often brutally-inflicted
It’s simply a matter of taste.
A Choice doesn’t have to be made.
We can Break your heart Either Way.
OPEN YOUR EYES TO LOVE
Men say they want a woman warm and soft,
But in my experience,
Kindness only turns them off.
They’ll search high and low for Cold, though,
And Frosty and Aloof hold court with the most confounding appeal;
It’s something I don’t claim
To understand or barely feel
Because the disconnect makes no sense;
It Reveals the burden of Ignorance.
So should you dream of Butterflies,
Witness their attributes BEST,
Then separate One from The Rest
And raise your highest price;
If it’s Inner Beauty you seek,
No Price is Too High, and
You only need open your eyes.
I was a fancy little show pony
Who grew too Larger-than-Life,
So with a Butcher’s knife
(NOT a Paring knife)
I was most inefficiently
Now I do WHAT I can WHEN I can;
This even includes Doing Your Man.
I gave him the Most Galloping Ride,
Then I broke him, so now He’s Mine;
And though he’s already bit me once,
I’m HARDLY twice shy!
I still coax and lure him on
My Fancy-Romancy and
Most Galloping of Pony Rides.
Hey, no need to buck!
I only ever rode him twice.
I never wanted to be a rule-breaker or a heartbreaker;
I just wanted to be a love-maker, home-maker, and baby-maker.
So why is rule-breaking the only rule I break and Love something I never make?
And why was MY Love the
One Stomped until broken,
Being cruelly neglected?
I was so crushed and dejected.
It’s enough to make me
Want to break some stupid rules,
Tie you up and take my anger out on you
Until you’re so hot, it’s quite the bother.
So until it REALLY bothers you,
Don’t bother thinking of ME
Sitting here steaming thoughts of YOU.
Tales of Lives in Surf and on Turf, hawked at an Open-Air Meat Market.
ASKING FOR: WHICH PART?
Are you asking for my hand tonight?
If so, I won’t lie or not reply
To feign Aloofness,
For I may be the Goofiest
Gorgeous babe you’ve laid Eyes on,
And I don’t need to bear your spawn.
Too far down that road am I,
Though I can surely
romanticize and fantasize
About those fancy cocktail drinks,
As well as other Sexy Things.
Do you ever think of me?
Think of what we used to be?
It’s true our time was very short,
The briefest of carnal cohorts.
Almost thirty years ago,
Yet my mind is always blown
Up, across, and far away,
When I dream upon those days
And reminisce about those nights
In that city filled with lights.
We met by lucky circumstance,
Serendipity, random chance.
You, the older, taught me much.
Your lessons always turned to lust
For I was not a little child.
Fully grown, I’d been defiled.
I had some fantasies to try;
You very graciously complied.
Hot and sweet and rarely sour
Was that summer that was ours.
The Biggest Apple, shined and new,
Was Red Delicious; so were you.
(Thanks @martysanchezz for the photo)
I KNOW WHAT YOU NEED
I haven’t even done it here,
But I know what you need to hear;
Paint the picture, make it clear,
Draw a World of Scary Fears
Then fight them off and hold you close,
Soothe you back with what you know;
Won’t finish till completely through,
And relieved are the likes of YOU!
I know what you need to hear,
I’ll meet you there; it’s very near.
That ticklish spot within your Ear
Serves as the repository
For your secret whispered story.
Don’t fret that you’ll have to wait,
For I won’t hesitate or even
In saying What and All
I’m Required to Say
To ensure that that in the end
YOU Feel YOUR Special Way.
THE WORDS WE MADE
My, but how they roll and rock
Long like legs that never stop
The Way in Which your Words Inflame
My mind and heart for blurred-out days
Sugar Treacles honeyed sweet,
Honeyed Words I long to Feed,
Feed to You and Watch you Eat,
Suck and Feed, Grasp and Eat,
Eat those Words right back to Me.
(Thanks for the photo, @miaroseharvey )
If we’re gonna try this “Virtual Sex,”
I’ll Need MORE and BETTER Text.
Not just at night but throughout the day;
This digital stuff must stimulate.
I’ve got some things I’d like to try,
Test them out, check the Size
Of all Multimedia provides,
Before we fail to learn to thrive,
And the bits of You in Me have died.
The Answers speaks; it self-replies:
This ENDS if you can’t make more time.
Just a little cybernote to say
Some sexy shit would spice my day.
I stuff my poems with heavy stuff.
I also stuff them with Big Love.
I stuff them till I’ve said enough.
I like to stuff them with rough love.
Stuff with me with your Lovely Stuff.
It tastes so good, it fills me up.
So why can’t I Just Get Enough?
It’s the Stuff I’m Dreaming of
UnTill I’m fully stuffed enough.
Come stuff me more; come stuff me rough;
Its the stuff; the stuff I love
And Yours the only Stuff I Trust;
The Only One that Spills Me Up.
You think your secrets Terrify
Though I have not a clue to Why;
You think I can’t exist without
It Tears me up then brings me Home.
Home to find You in my bed,
Dreaming of a Love so dead
To You, it has been quenched of Fire.
Once convinced to burst in Flame,
Now Inspiring Cold-to-touch
Weaponry to thwart Desire
And Broken, grasp at Any Crutch.
(Thanks for the use of your photo, @aaronburden)
THE FIRST ONLY CHILD
I’ll admit you spoiled me a little, with your outrageous-ridiculous-silly-goofy-adorable gestures of Nothing Other than You were Thinking of Me.
You treated me in the indulgent way parents indulge their First Child while she’s their Only Child.
I loved every minute of it. To this day, I still miss You like The First Only Child misses Yesterday.